There’s a line from the song Strawberry Wine that says: “I still remember when thirty was old.”
I’m twenty-seven now, but I don’t think I ever, even as a little kid, thought thirty was old. I’m not sure what I’d say, though, if I had to give a number. NPR did a story once where they said that as we age, we just move the “old” line back to whatever the next decade is, so that even eighty-year-olds think of ninety as the “real” old.
Which makes a kind of sense. Age is relative, after all. And we grow up thinking of “old” as something that happens to other people, so it’s strange to apply it to yourself when you’re still the same you inside.
Someday – hopefully – I will be eighty years old. It’s a strange thought. And yet, not so strange. Betsy and I both say that we’ve been old for years: we don’t like loud music or late parties, we tend to stay home, our joints hurt, and we listen to the Beatles. Hell, I’m reading Dracula right now, and that was published in 1897. Will it really be so different when my body catches up with my brain?
Another unusual wrinkle for me personally is that I think we are headed, sooner or later, for a Technological Singularity. I think that someday, technology will advance to the point that people live forever. And I think there is a small but very real chance that this will happen in my own lifetime, and that I personally could become immortal.
It’s certainly not something that I’m counting on or particularly expecting, and I realize it may sound bizarre. But when I think about getting old, that’s out there, too. Who knows?
Well, I’m rambling now. Just another sign that I need a cane and a rocking chair.
Remember, you still have till the end of the week to ask Brian anything!